


The Inconvenient, Atrocious, God-Awful, Terrible Day

by thecookiemomma



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both men have a horrible day.  They come home needing a little comfort.  Written for FYeahMystradeFanfic's monthly fic challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inconvenient, Atrocious, God-Awful, Terrible Day

Greg could not believe his eyes. The day had started off so well. He'd awoken next to his lover, wrapped up in Myc's arms. They'd kissed and cuddled for almost an hour before the younger man had to get out of bed to prepare for his day. Things had gone considerably downhill from there. Mycroft couldn't find the cuff links he'd intended to wear, so he had to re-plan his entire outfit. Greg had quietly suggested either purchasing another set just like the first or substituting a pair that looked almost like them, but both ideas were shot down in a trice. That had left Greg feeling out of sorts as he dressed for work himself.

The rain was pouring down, and in his haste to catch Mycroft for a kiss before he got into the big black car, Gregory grabbed the wrong jacket. He was soaked by the time he got to work, and of course, the rain didn't let up at all. He spent most of his day standing around a crime scene, hoping to find the clues to give him a solid lead. It didn't even register on Sherlock's “interesting meter”, so his texts to the consulting detective had proved fruitless. He'd gotten a call from John, though. However, when he took it, he had to cover his eyes. John Watson had ass-dialed him, and Greg was now hearing sounds he'd hoped never to hear. On the very small plus side, Mycroft owed him ten quid.

At the moment, all of that was immaterial. He sat at his desk, looking through the glass at the DCI talking to … _oh, shit._ Apparently, they were having a surprise inspection. He was covered head to toe in mud, his case didn't have a lead, and he was three weeks behind on paperwork. _Shit and double shit._ He pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the inevitable.  
  


* * *

Mycroft Holmes sat in the meeting, listening to the French representative drone on. Everyone in the room, including the French diplomat himself, knew exactly how this meeting would turn out. The English position would remain unchanged, and they would all return, report the “intractableness of my counterpart” to their respective state departments, and everything would move on apace. However, the formality of the meeting had to be observed, and Mycroft had to appear to be listening to the man natter on in French.

The arguments were not new, the issue would never be resolved, and it was such a minor detail between their nations that it was unimportant. He could be doing twenty-three other things, no, twenty-four other things that would be far more profitable, more interesting, and more important. However, he'd misspoken in a conference last week, and the man he'd spoken to was a vicious, beady-eyed little man who felt Mycroft had taken his position – it might well be true for all Mycroft knew – and he'd developed 'an emergency' just quickly enough to avoid going to the meeting, but not so soon as to find a more acceptable replacement.

He shifted slightly in his seat, moving enough to alleviate the pressure the uncomfortable chair was exerting on the small of his back but not so much that anyone would notice. These things were so _tedious_ after all. Every movement was calculated to impress, communicate or posture. He was excellent at the game, but this was child's play. He heard his childish brother's voice in his head. _'Boring.'_ A soft snort nearly escaped. _Quite right, brother dear._

* * *

Greg shucked his wet clothes as soon as he possibly could. It took longer than it would have if he was still living in his own flat instead of the posh lodgings Mycroft kept, but he only grumbled about that for a moment. He wrapped himself up in his dressing gown and moved to the living room to drink the hot, sweet tea that was already sitting out for him. “Ta,” he nodded at Mary, the kitchen attendant who'd brought his drink to him. He sat down on the couch, pulled out his reading glasses, and pulled out the files he'd brought home to read while waiting for his lover to appear.

Said lover did appear much more quickly than Greg expected. Greg was finally shedding the stress of the day when Mycroft tramped into the house, nearly as wet as he had been. He looked at his man over the top of his reading glasses, and frowned. “What happened, Mycroft?”

Mycroft looked up, and stopped his muttering. Greg thought he might have been cursing in German. It was either German or Russian, as far as Greg could tell. “I had an atrocious day, Gregory.” He kicked off his shoes and sighed. “I made an errant comment last week – you remember? I mentioned that I thought it might have repercussions.” Greg noticed his scowl deepen. “It did. Petty, foul-mouthed, craven little cockroach...”

Greg snorted. “Yeah. Bit of a mess today, myself. After standing all day in the rain, on a case Sherlock wouldn't touch – y' owe me ten quid, by the way – I got back to the Yard and was just settling into getting some of that damn backlogged paperwork done. Soon as I sat my arse down in my seat, still dripping wet from the rain, in steps the DCI and some toff … surprise inspection.”

Mycroft listened to Greg's story, eyebrow arching in a couple places. “Absolutely intolerable.” He shed his suit jacket, laying it gently across the arm of the chair, then moved to sit down beside Greg. He held out his arm, and Greg immediately reached over to unbutton the sleeve. Mycroft turned to present his other wrist when Greg had finished. It might have seemed strange to an outsider, but it was an outward sign of the difference between 'work' and 'home'.

Greg grunted his agreement, leaning against Mycroft's shoulder for just a second or two, then leaning forward again. Mycroft caught his intention, and slid his arm around Greg's shoulder. “Better, my dear?”

“Yeah,” Greg sighed, soaking up the warmth of his lover.

“So,” Mycroft spoke, and Greg could hear the amusement in his voice. “You said I owe you ten quid? Have you proof?”

“Well, I'd have it, except I forgot to hit the record button. John ass-dialed me.” Greg turned, grinning up into Mycroft's face. He leaned in to nuzzle gently at his cheek.

“Indeed?” Mycroft's arm tightened around Greg's shoulder, and Greg couldn't prevent the shiver that passed through him. “Gregory, are you still cold?”

“No,” Greg felt himself warm, especially across his cheeks. He knew he shouldn't be embarrassed at this point, but he still had those moments when he couldn't believe that Mycroft Holmes was still willing to wrap himself around him like this. “Just … wanting...” He let his voice trail off.

“And you are not alone in that desire. Come, let us gather up our meal and take it upstairs. I am certain we could get away with such a thing after a day like today. Mary?” He raised his voice slightly, calling the attendant back to them.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes?” Mary arrived not a moment later.

“Have our meal prepared to carry upstairs.” He nodded toward their room. “Gregory and I are still chilled from our day out in the elements.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” The two men walked up the stairs, knowing Mary would bring their meal to them.  

Greg snorted to himself, still getting used to the trappings of living with and loving a man who had so much power and wealth.

“It benefits us both, does it not?” Mycroft was reading his mind again, accompanying his words with soft touches to his sides.

“Yeah, alright. Just a bit hard to get used to when you're a lowly plod like me.”

“I can imagine.” Mycroft undressed, wrapping a dark green dressing gown around himself. “Now, shall we get arranged? It won't take long for the help to get the food up here.”

“Never does.” Greg slid in between the covers, still wrapped. It wouldn't take much to shuck it when they were done eating. Mycroft followed him, leaning in to nuzzle at Greg's neck. “You are a rare and precious treasure, Gregory Lestrade.” He whispered softly against Greg's skin, and Greg shivered.

“Love you too, Myc, but don't start somethin' you can't finish before Mary gets here.” Even though his words cautioned, he leaned in, stealing a soft kiss. They were lost in each other for a long moment, then Greg heard the discreet knock.

“Thank you,” Mycroft called, standing to retrieve the food. He pulled out a tray table and set the tray on it, uncovering a full meal of warm, beef vegetable soup and rice pilaf with a fruit salad. It was a light meal, but warm enough to satisfy on a cold, wet day like today. Greg was becoming more sure that the staff were as telepathic as Mycroft.

They ate in silence, reaching to touch one another softly between bites. They seldom got the chance to do this, so when they did, they took full advantage of it. Soon, the food was gone, and Mycroft stood again to collect their cutlery and crockery, setting it and the table aside. “Now, then, Inspector Lestrade, I believe we had plans.”

“Indeed we did, sir,” and with that, Greg leaned in, capturing Myc's lips with his own, and untying his lover's dressing gown. Mycroft was returning the favor, so they were undressed rather quickly.

Soft touches led to more sure, confident strokes. Mycroft reached into the drawer beside him, gentling Greg when he whined at the loss of contact. “Shh, my dear. Give me a moment...” He uncapped the lube, and Greg heard the squirting sound of a nearly-empty bottle. Then, Myc returned his attention to Greg, and Greg sighed in relief. It wasn't long until Myc had worked him open, sliding in with ease. “Every time I find myself in this position, Gregory, I ...” He paused, closing his eyes. Greg loved watching Mycroft's face, seeing the pleasure he got from them being together. “I cannot believe I have been this fortunate.”

Greg closed his eyes for just a moment, savoring the words and the touch. Then, he opened them again, reached up to grab his lover's shoulders, and pull him down for a long, messy kiss. “Move, please,” he whined, pulling back for air.

Myc complied, sliding in and out of Greg's body with a slow pace at first, then increasing it just a little more each time. He sighed explosively as he sped up, reaching down to draw them as close as they could be in this position. It took longer than it might have if they were scrabbling in strong lust, but their climax came. Greg came first, shooting between them before relaxing back into the bed to let his lover thrust himself to completion. Mycroft sighed, sliding out and reaching to grab the towels that were always nearby.

“I love you, Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, curling himself around Greg's body when they were clean.

Spent and sated, Greg could only grunt his reply before burrowing into his lover and falling deeply asleep.


End file.
